


Under Purple Lights

by linglun



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Night Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linglun/pseuds/linglun
Summary: With a little lift, twist, a jerk on the strings, Heather Chandler ultimately gets what she wants.





	Under Purple Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Chandler's just extra.

She was a quarter to her third drink when wolf-whistling and cheering ensues from a distance.

Her eyebrow twitches at the notion, obviously. Being at the middle of the very booth situated at the center of the club, one would think people would be throwing the praises and attention to her, Heather Chandler. Not to some scraggy nobody.

The ice clinks as she sets her now empty drink down, delicately and with elegance, not like the haphazard environment she was in—what to be expected from a club. From another scene, a faint chanting erupts. Heather catches a glimpse of yellow in the purple-streaked dance floor being the center of attention, before someone chuckles from her right and she was forced to turn her head to appease the person.

David, with an idiotic grin on his face, places a couple of glasses before her, “Here you go. Thanks for waiting.”

”Took you long enough.”, Heather bites.

He hums, ”People invaded the drink bar. Greenhorns with no decency.” He scoots, drink almost getting knocked in the process. There was a mouth to her ear, almost cooing, “Though, I do enjoy the rush.”

She grins, “Well—”

A clunking, slamming sound just in front of them cuts off her thought process. Heather whips her head to see green, impassive, as if she’s got nothing to fear.

”What the fuck, Heather.”, Chandler croons, maintaining composure in front of David.

Heather Duke continues chugging the drink, before slamming it just like she did with the first one. She burps, an ugly one, “Sorry, Heather.” Bitch doesn’t look sorry at all as she teeters off. Heave what little of a brain she has and her fucking guts out, why don’t she.

It was a mistake bringing her here. At least Mac has some use, whatnot, building her presence on the dance floor.

Apparently, the world loves proving her wrong.

Heather almost silently thanked her green companion for batting her attention away as it lands on a nobody from the bar. Poorly mismatched clothes, brunette, hair long enough tied up in a ponytail, but short enough that some ends were slipping from the tie. A disaster of a person, sad excuse for a hipster.

But then, Heather innovates. Creates. She has the capability to foresee and direct things, situations, circumstances, oh, and most specially, people, so she could advance. Rise. Rise as the top.

And in this nobody, Heather sees revolution. A thirst for change, as she awkwardly downs a shot. Rebellion, as she glares hard at the empty shot glass for a second before turning, laughing to her small number of companions chanting praises at her.

Hesitation.

Perfect, Heather will be the one to break that for her.

”So where were we again?” A voice then roots her feet on the ground.

She turns her head back to David, the last glass from earlier now empty. First, let’s get him over with. But not without fully utilizing him, of course.

”We were just about to take this somewhere else.” It was Heather’s turn to coo, latching onto his arm, tugging on him to get up. David joyously leaps up to his feet, of course.

”But. We’ll have a drink first. More loose makes it more fun.”

”I like how you think, Chandler.” He was definitely more loose now.

While she’s sober than ever. Like hell she’ll get more loose now. Heather was fully alert. Attentive. Focused on her meal for the night.

Savoring the appetizer, David lapping at her lips, mouth, tugging at her waist as they sit at the stool by the end of the bar.

Preparing the main course, feeling eyes behind her head. Sinking on her back.

”Here’s three. Now please get off my bar.”

Heather takes the cue to separate, catch her breath, and grasp a shot glass. In a hazy after effect of the combined humidity from the environment and the intense unwanted make out session, certainly not because the brunette hipster was gripping the same glass as hers in what looks like a drunken stupor, Heather Chandler was boiling.

Said person merely gaped at her, blinking once, before turning to the bartender. “Woah, I thought this was mine, mister?” She croaks-yells.

”It is yours! I don’t think one’s going to quit your cryin’ so I gave you three!” The bartender yells from the other side of the bar.

”And there you go.” She gives a lopsided grin to Heather, huffing proudly. “Mine.”

The sight, a poor attempt in asserting dominance, makes Heather laugh.

“Woah…” The girl blinks again, caught off guard.

Reminds her of Duke back in seventh grade.

“Nothing’s yours, bitch.”, Heather growls, tone low and husky from earlier.

She looked like she was sobering up, if not slightly. Her choice of action? To run away and scream, “I made a hot girl laugh, though, she mocked me, Betty!!”

”Are you serious?! Details, Veronica!”

“Here, David…” Heather trails off a bit breathlessly, fingers wobbly as she hands the glass to him. “We still have two shots left….Let’s take our time.” Her chest was still erratic, mind still racing for a fuckton of reasons, but Heather can still trace, still had one train of thought. Still was hyperaware.

Of ‘Veronica’ and ‘Betty’, streaks of purple light flickering between them as they hover around the washroom.

“Sorry.”

Of Veronica’s laughter, drunk chortling, subtly resounding with the record playing in the background.

“It’s just that…”

Of Veronica’s sudden raised shoulders, rigid posture, frozen and tense.

“...You’re so hot tonight.”

Of Veronica strutting off towards some people—

“I can’t exactly control myself.”, David leans, blocking her view.

Of her main course, finally served.

Heather was forced to look at David, who was inching closer by the minute, his features at the moment looked foreign and out of place for a man like him. Carnal. Eyes clouded with lust, body dripping with anticipation. It would’ve unnerved the girl clad in red.

If she wasn’t waiting for a smooth transition from her appetizer to her main course.

_ Finally. _ Chandler accidentally hums into the kiss, while David takes that as a positive note and becomes more riled up. They start scrambling off from the bar as a result.

Animals were never Heather’s forte. Slobbery, disgusting, they have small pea brains. But even the carnivorous relent with right raining. Their single-mindedness, their blind pursuit for what they hunger for, tunes them out from their surroundings. So it is then up to someone bold to steer them to a path. This animal’s path, for instance, was into the washroom.

Rough hands were sliding beneath her shirt, hers were tangled in his hair.

_ Further. _

Tugging on it to maneuver them into a mess of other sweaty bodies and intoxicated air.

_ An inch more, asshole! _

“Who—What the fuck?”

In anyone’s eyes, the scene unfolding was a one way ticket to hell.  A ‘couple’, making out, bumps against two inebriated meatheads in lettermans, who were hitting on this insufferable prick to no avail because she’s being defended by this other intoxicated chick (and maybe two other nobodies, but they’re not important).

But of course, Heather Chandler wasn’t just anyone. She’s the very definition of hell.

“D’you actually just….bump me?”

“M’buddy Kurt just asked you a question.”

Chandler strategically goes right in the heart of the impending disaster, slipping in between David and the two meatheads, nursing David’s lip with her fingers while articulating a certain part of her body to the other two. “Are you okay, David?” 

David merely gives her a smile. Definitely forced, Heather points out. Slipping and cracking at the edges.

_ Just one more push. _

The action made the two stare at Heather.

“....’Eyy, Ram, p’rrretty girl.” Meathead#1 nudges his companion. “Addi’on to our san’wich.”

Meathead#2 lightens up, eyes darting from Chandler to the other figures at the side, wobbling towards them. “C’mon, ‘Ronica, Heather! See, we ‘ave red here wi’th us, too!”

Protests fly from their side and more scrambling ensues as Meathead#2 falls right into a girl clad in green, who Chandler was definitely not pleased to see involved here.

”Goddamnit, Ram!” Heather Duke violently squirms her way out of the jock’s arms. Fear was a surprisingly great prairie oyster and for it to be standing right in front of her—sober was an understatement for Duke’s state at the moment. “I said I’m done!”, she shrieks, sinking under Chandler’s glare.

Which transforms into a full on grimace as Veronica dashes to green’s side, prying the jock apart from her. ”You’ve got a left hand, use it!”, she grunts.

A cackle from her side breaks her facial expression apart, directing a neutral one to the source, Meathead#1.

“See dude, red here’s unsatisfied with you. ‘er pretty face’s scrun’chin up.” Meathead#1 was now going toe to toe with David.

The other snickers as an attempt to cover the growing edge lacing his tone. “You’re just jealous you’re not gonna get laaid.”

Meathead#1 ignores David, shoving him aside to stand in front of Chandler.

“Wha’cha say you come with us instead and have a great time, ‘ey, babe?” He waggles his brows at Chandler.

Another pet peeve animals have is throwing an obstacle in their path. Persistence and impatience is naturally ingrained in their system, which is driven by their carnal instinct. Usually, those traits are kept under wraps by the trainer.

But there are certain instances that even the trainer can’t restrain (or does not give a flying fuck) the animal as it goes batshit wild for not getting what it wants.

This was one of those times.

Everything was a blur under the flickering, purple streaks of light. Each time it hits a certain area, it illuminates a scenario differently.

Lettermans flying and spilling blood.

Green following red as she struts to the side, a phone on her hand. 

Blue staring hard at red.

Red holding blue’s gaze, sending her a coy smile.

Yellow appearing at red’s side.

And the Heathers were out of the club without a trace.

The cold breeze is a welcome change as they strut into the night. Mcnamara looks over the two, who both looked disheveled but in different ways. Green’s face was contorting with gloom. Red’s was haughty.

“So…” Yellow starts, breaking the ice. “Something happened?”

Duke scoffs and immediately dives into the issue, uncomfortable with the silence. “Two meatdicks kept grinding on me. Then this nosy bitch, thinks she’s Mother Teresa, was right up their faces, not minding her own busi—”

“Shut up, Heather.” Chandler barks, turns around to face Duke, only to see a familiar figure from behind them.

She shuts up, smirking.

_ Heather Chandler gets what she wants. _

Mcnamara and Duke, astounded by the silence, turns to what their leader was staring at and finds a brunette girl, huffing and panting.

Duke immediately responds with spite. “For the record, I didn’t need your help.”

“ _ You’re welcome _ .” Veronica spits. “For the record, I wouldn’t if Martha didn’t beg me to.”

“Martha?” Mcnamara questions.

“She’s  _ our _ fri—”

“—No one!” Duke grits. “Get lost, loser.”

Blue rolls her eyes. “I’m not here for you.” She trains her gaze to Chandler, silent for a while. “...Thank you.”

The Heathers were taken aback. Surprise was painted over Mcnamara and Duke’s faces, but Chandler stood her ground, merely quirking a brow.

Disappointing. She was expecting Veronica to be at her feet, handing her number, not this bullshit.

“All that was intentional, right?”

Chandler freezes. She figured it out?

“You did all that to save us and your friend.”

Duke whips her gaze to Chandler, features contorted with shock that the demon was capable of being nice.

_ Jesus, please.  _ Chandler frowns at the sight and at Veronica by extension. 

“I don’t do charity, blue bird.” Chandler takes a closer step towards the brunette. While it almost seemed like it’s done for intimidation, Chandler’s eyes give away the deal upon a closer look. Hers locks on the brunette, silently searching for something. “I got what I want from David and I had to get rid of him, nothing more, nothing less.”   
  
Veronica was only able to gulp in response, staring at the ground in silence, earning a frown from Heather. Disappointing that she was just a trick of the light. A mere illusion under the purple streaked bar that illuminated a hallucation of what seemed to be an interesting new prospect, a great way to pass the time.    
  
It could’ve been beautiful. Veronica could’ve been beautiful, but Heather Chandler doesn’t settle for anything less than a 51% possibility so she walks away, struts off without warning. She hears footsteps following hastily  after a few seconds, but only registers that it wasn’t any of her companions when blue stands right in front of her once again.    
  
“I..uh...I didn’t go after you just for that, actually!”    
  
Oh, so she does have some balls, after all. Satisfied, an affirmative grunt escapes Heather’s lips as she whips out her phon—   
  
“Please let me be a part of your clique! I can offer you anything!”, she quickly adds, whispering, “Possibly.”   
  
Before she can process  _ what the fuck is going on,  _ Chandler hears footsteps coming to a halt.    
  
Heather Duke was just frozen. It looked like she was having this dilemma about wanting to just scream and staying quiet in fear of Chandler, so her body compromises, copes with having her shut down and freeze.    
  
“She’s asking to be what?!” Mcnamara squeals from behind, before immediately covering her mouth. Chandler doesn’t even need to turn around to see the grin on her face. What kind, it doesn’t matter. Chandler knows, it’s a mixture of mocking excitement. The kind of emotion one would feel when one watches someone suffer through the same disaster as they did.    
  
Different reactions, but Chandler knows the two have the same thoughts:  _ What the fuck, no. _   
  
But when did their thoughts ever matter?   
  
“Possibly? Fuck me, do I look like I’ll hesitate being cut open by a chainsaw?”    
  
Veronica fidgets before she vomits out words. “Okay, well, um...If it’s forgery you need of, I’m sure I can pay you back through report cards, permission slips, and absence notes. I just need to know your school doc—”   
  
Heather rolls her eyes. “Jesus.” She grabs Veronica’s chin, tipping her head as if inspecting for something worthy for the queen’s time. The queen finds nothing, for Heather Chandler already has the answer, already found the worth in this girl.    
  
“For a greasy little nobody, you do have good bone structure.”   
  
For once, Heather Chandler was grateful for the other Heathers’ interruption. She had to take a moment to digest that little grin of victory Veronica gave her before she releases her grip on her.    
  
Well, she’ll have plenty of chances for that phone number.    



End file.
